


My Feet Can't Touch the Bottom of You

by triflingthings



Category: The Selection Series - Kiera Cass
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, I'm very emotionally attached to this ship, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triflingthings/pseuds/triflingthings
Summary: And that's when it hit me.I wanted this moment to last forever. I wanted the children, the laughs, the tears, and I wanted them all with Maxon. I wanted them with Maxon because I loved him. Because I was so hopelessly in love with him that the thought of having these moments with anyone else made me feel physically sick. The man next to me was the one I wanted to be with for the rest of my life, not just for the last few weeks of The Selection. All of the sudden, the crown, the people, King Clarkson, they didn't seem so terrifying. Because I would have Maxon, and because Maxon would have me.ORThe one where America doesn't have to face the death of her father alone.
Relationships: Maxon Schreave & America Singer, Maxon Schreave/America Singer
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	My Feet Can't Touch the Bottom of You

**Author's Note:**

> I recently re-read this series after hearing that there is supposed to be a film adaptation in the works, and I couldn't resist. For some odd reason, I hold such an attachment to this ship, so here's a little what-if. Sorry it's so short!

The plane ride to Carolina was quiet. Aspen, along with a handful of other guards that I vaguely recognized, sat at the small tables on the opposite end of the jet. Though I wasn't facing them, I could feel Aspen's stare burning through the material of my dress. Surprisingly, Maxon accompanied me, as well. No doubt he'd pay the price in lashes once we returned. 

The interior of the plane looked exactly like the one that I boarded just before The Selection began, though rather than utilizing the couch, Maxon and I opted for the individual seats in the back corner. The arm rest between us was raised, allowing me to curl into his side. He didn't say anything, only rubbed small circles on my back and alternated between kissing my head and the fingertips of the hand he was holding. I knew that Aspen was probably thinking of a million ways to dismember Maxon, but I couldn't be bothered to focus on anything other than the deep ache in my chest. 

The car ride from the airport was much the same, only that my mind wandered from the pain to my reaction _to_ the pain. I hadn't cried since Maxon had first delivered the news. My father was my rock, shouldn't my tears be unmanageable at this point? Shouldn't I be breaking down into sobs and screams and tremors? Shouldn't I want Aspen, the man who had known my father his entire life, rather than for a short weekend?

But I didn't. I didn't sob or scream or want Aspen. I wanted my father, but knowing that I could not have him, I wanted Maxon almost just as much. Something was changing, but I couldn't be sure if Maxon felt it, too. Either way, now wasn't the time to think about it. I felt guilty for the rest of the ride.

When we arrived at my house, I couldn't help but think about whether or not I should be embarrassed. I knew that I had no shame toward my family or where I came from, but all the same, the prince was standing on my small front porch, right in front of the paint chipped front door and under the flickering porch light. My guilt only multiplied and I wondered exactly how disappointed my father would be in my thoughts.

"The lights are lovely," I heard someone say, interrupting my thoughts. Maxon was standing next to me, gazing at the Christmas lights that my father strung around the roof and front porch pillar. Leave it to him to look flawless in the flickering green and red lights. I gave him a small smile and wrapped my arms around his neck, ignoring any stares and whispers as I did so.

"I'm scared," I whispered into his ear. "It's not fair." I knew that I was being silly. Of course it wasn't fair, but was it any more unfair for me than it was for Aspen when his father died? Or for Natalie when her sister was murdered by Southern rebels? Or for Queen Amberly when she lost child after child? No. But yet I allowed myself to have my hair stroked and cheeks kissed by the angelic man in front of me, because I am selfish, and for a moment I am okay with that fact.

Maxon sighed and squeezed me tighter, and for a moment I felt completely safe. "I know, darling, I know. But he'll never truly be gone, not from this house and not from _you_. I need you to know that." He sounded so genuine, so caring, so _loving_. I couldn't stop the few tears that spilled over, but Maxon kissed each one away, whispering how proud he was of me and how proud my father was and would continue to be.

After I had calmed down we walked inside, immediately ambushed by my mother and May. It wasn't the cheerful greeting I had hoped for when I thought about Maxon seeing my family for the second time, but it was somehow more meaningful than any other situation could have been. He kissed my mother on the cheek and whispered his condolences, he sat on his knees and held May as if she was his own sister, and eventually I was pulled into the huddle on the floor. Maxon held two crying girls, doing exactly what made him the most nervous - for me. He did it for me, for May, for my mother, for Kenna, who he had never even met. He did it because he was selfless, caring. Because he was Maxon. Because he loved me. I knew that he did. I think that I've known, at least a part of me has, yet my mind still questioned it. My idiotic mind, always ruining good things. 

Dinner was more lively than expected. Stories of Dad and things he had said or done were exchanged, and Maxon was filled in on enough that I was sure that he felt as if he had known my father his entire life. Maxon was generous and kind, smiling and chiming in when he felt it appropriate, but generally content with listening. His hand never left my vicinity, usually on top of one of mine or resting on my leg or lying on the back of my chair. I felt myself melt into him and into the atmosphere, the sense of fear and dread trickling down my back and into the hardwood floor. I felt at home in the palace, of course, but not like this. Not in the way that I felt at home with Maxon at my dinner table, or on my couch, or in the kitchen as my mother attempted to teach him the basics of cooking.

When gifts were exchanged that night, Maxon had something for each member of my family, something even I was unaware of. He had discreetly whispered that he had something for me, as well, though I was positive that Kenna had heard when she shot a small wink my way. I blushed noticeably and leaned my head on Maxon's shoulder to avoid meeting her eye. 

A few hours later, everyone was either in bed or heading to it, leaving only me and Kenna in the living room. A sleeping Astra was in my arms, swaddled and breathing softly. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She was so innocent, so serene, so beautiful. I had never seen something so pure, and I couldn't help but wonder if I would be holding a child of my own one day. Whether that be in a small house in Carolina or a palace in Angeles, I didn't care - because, suddenly, the only thing that mattered was that Maxon was next to me through it all. I didn't care if there was a crown on either of our heads, if I was wearing a dress or cotton sleep shorts. I didn't care, because in my mind I was with _him_. When it came to Aspen, I could never even get farther than the thought of our wedding, because it was the thrill that we both loved so much. Of course, he loved me and I him, but he didn't love me in the way that I now knew Maxon did. He didn't see me as his whole world, only a large piece of it. Aspen was a force, one that I loved, but was not _in_ love with. 

"What are you thinking about?" Kenna asked quietly, both so that Astrid would not wake and so no one - specifically Maxon - would hear. She knew.

I couldn't lie to her. Kenna may have been closer to my mother, but she and I were alike in the sense that we thought like our father. They could both read me like a book, and I knew that I needed to talk to someone about this that wasn't competing for Maxon's hand. Kenna was always supportive, but unafraid to be blunt. I thought that her and Celeste, the new Celeste, would get along.

"Him," I whispered. "It scares me, how much I need him. I shouldn't need anyone, but I _want_ to need him, Kenna. I feel like I can depend on him, like I need him and he needs me. But how can I know if that feeling is true when there are three other girls back there fighting for the same thing that I'm fighting for?" I could hear the helplessness, the desperation, the fear in my voice. I knew she wouldn't judge me, and that she’d try her best to put herself in my strappy, high-heeled shoes. "Kenna, what do I do?"

She laid her hand on my arm and looked at me fiercely, and I knew that I was going to get an answer. "Grow a pair," she said. I had to stifle a laugh at her crude language, though I knew that this response was better than one that coddled my feelings. "He loves you, Ames, anyone can see it. Seriously, I know that James loves me, but even he doesn't look at me the way that Maxon looks at you. At least not in the same way." She shrugged softly, and I knew that this was not something that bothered her. She, nor anyone else, had ever second-guessed the love that James held for her, and she for him. "And those girls back in Angeles? The people and the king and queen? Seriously, who cares, America? He picks, not anyone else."

I had to hold in my laughter at that. Little did she know, Queen Amberly had recently said the same thing. I knew that she was right, but I also knew that it was much easier said than done. I shook my head lightly, but Kenna cut me off before I could speak again. "No, Ames, I'm serious. Don't overthink this. It's love, and that is so much more than a stupid competition." She kissed the side of my head before standing up, stretching lightly before sending a questioning look toward the baby in my arms.

"I'll put her down," I told her. "I want to spend a little more time with her before I have to leave again. Go, get some sleep." She smiled softly and smoothed my hair before making her way toward the room that she and James were sharing. I noticed that the rooms that she passed all had their lights off and assumed that Lucy and May had worn themselves out enough to pass out early.

I heard the door at the other end of the hall open and saw a small flood of warm, yellow light fill my peripheral vision for a moment. Maxon emerged from the bathroom in a cotton shirt and a pair of pajama pants that looked so finely made that it should be illegal. His blond hair was damp, making it seem light brown instead, and fell into his eyes before he quickly ran his fingers through it to push it into place. God, he never failed to shock me with how amazing he looked no matter the circumstance. Our eyes met and he gave me the softest of smiles before seating himself on the cushion next to me. I leaned into him, tucking myself into his side as his arm encircled my shoulders. We were silent for a moment, staring at Astra. I could have sworn that both my mind and heart exploded when he stroked her small cheeks with his pointer finger, eventually allowing her small fist to wrap around it. 

"Do you want to hold her?" I whispered, hoping that he would say yes so that I could burn the image into my brain. He looked both genuinely shocked and terrified, but recovered quickly when I shifted to settle the infant in his arms. He took her gingerly, and I saw the pink of his cheeks and the happiness shining in his brown eyes. Once adjusted, I leaned back into him, turning my face up so that I could watch the pair.

And that's when it hit me.

I wanted this moment to last forever. I wanted the children, the laughs, the tears, and I wanted them all with Maxon. I wanted them with Maxon because I loved him. Because I was so hopelessly in love with him that the thought of having these moments with anyone else made me feel physically sick. The man next to me was the one I wanted to be with for the rest of my life, not just for the last few weeks of The Selection. All of the sudden, the crown, the people, King Clarkson, they didn't seem so terrifying. Because I would have Maxon, and because Maxon would have me.

And then a different fear set in. Suddenly the fear of telling Maxon of my mistakes, of what I had done with Aspen, seemed horrifying. What if my love for him wasn't enough to keep me next to him? What if the fact that, despite knowing that I wasn't in the competition for him at that point, he still rid himself of me? I didn't know that the tears were falling until Maxon broke the silence.

"What is it, darling?" He sounded so concerned, and I knew that I didn't deserve it. I knew that, despite what anyone said, Maxon would hate me. And I knew that I had to tell him. How could I live with myself if I kept it from him?

"Can we put Astra to bed and then talk in my room?" I whispered hoarsely, the fear evident in my voice. Maxon simply nodded, confusion written all over his face. After I crept into Gerad's room, where Kenna and James were staying for the time being, and gently laid Astra down, Maxon and I quietly made our way to my room. We sat with our backs to the headrest and when he reached for my hand I gave him a small shake of my head.

"You're not going to want to do that once I say this," I told him honestly, knowing that it would take a few moments after I began speaking for him to understand why. Hurt mingled with the lingering confusion on his face, but I knew that I had to say what I was thinking.

"Maxon," I began, "before I say this, I wanted to let you know something, though I'm positive that you won't care in a matter of time. But to put it simply, I love you." I saw the smile cover his face, but didn't let it get too far. "I love you so much it hurts, but I can't _not_ tell you this." He nodded, his smile still evident. "Officer Leger, well, I told you once that were both from Carolina, which is true, but I left parts out." It was like a switch flipped, and recognition colored his features. "We were in love, or thought we were, at least. We were going to get married. We met secretly for years, and both saved up to have a small wedding. I was prepared to move down a caste, for my family to be quietly disappointed in me, because I thought I loved him. But then he broke it off the day before my name was called, even though I only put my name in because he begged me to. But being in Angeles, with you and the other girls, I finally felt _okay_. I was distracted, and I thought that I might finally be okay. You and I became friends, and my heart started to heal. But then he showed up at the palace, and everything got turned upside down. You knew that I was there to help you and not to marry you, and so I told myself that I wasn't actually doing anything wrong. But I was, and I know that. It never went farther than kisses and secret meetings, which I know doesn't help my case in any way, but I want you to know the entire truth."

Maxon hadn't said a word, which could only mean something terrible. But the word vomit kept spewing, and there was no stopping it. "When Marlee and Carter were caned, I realized how dangerous my situation was. But I was angry, Maxon. I was so angry at you because I thought you allowed that to happen. I didn't know that you had done everything in your power to stop it. And then we danced in the rain, and the thought that I was falling in love with you hit me, and I got so scared. I began to distance myself from Aspen. I had been using him as a safety net and telling myself that I loved him, that I needed him. But I didn't, and I don't. I need you, and as soon as I realized that, I knew that I'd have to tell you about this, and that you'd hate me."

I was crying, and so was Maxon. Our tears were slow, steady streams of hot liquid, and only one of us deserved to be crying at all. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand. "So I'm sorry," I concluded. "I know it means nothing, but I'm so, so sorry, Maxon."

He ran his palm down the face, sighing and wiping his eyes. He opened his mouth as if he was going to speak a few times, but then closed it and shook his head. He closed his eyes, and I knew that it was because he couldn't stand to look at me. I hated myself, more than I've ever hated anything. 

"Can we just go to sleep, America? You can't expect me to know what to say to that right now. I’m angry, I'm so angry, but I don't know what to say." I could see the conflicting emotions, the anger and confusion and sheer hurt. I deserved much more than a caning for what I was causing him. I nodded, barely a shake of my head, and tucked my legs underneath the quilt. Maxon did the same, on the far end of the small bed. I turned the lamp off and faced the wall, knowing that Maxon was doing the exact same, and that it was more than deserved. 

It took over an hour to fall asleep. Maxon's breathing evened at half of that time, though they were shallower and more labored than normal. When I did finally fall asleep, my cheek was lying in the dampness of my pillowcase and my head was already beginning to ache.

A few hours later I woke to the bed shifting. Maxon moved to my side of the bed and wrapped his arm around my waist. He nuzzled his nose into my neck, inhaling for a moment before allowing the room to lapse into complete silence. 

I watched the clock on the wall. Seven minutes and forty-one seconds had passed before Maxon spoke.

"I want to hate you for what you did, America. I want to hate you so badly, but I can't. Because I love you, and that makes me even angrier than you could ever imagine." I nodded slightly, not saying anything. "I'm angry at you, and I have so much more to say than that, but I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else. So marry me, America. Please, marry me." 

My entire body tensed, not believing what I was hearing. After a moment I turned over, awkwardly wrapping an arm around his neck and threading my fingers through his hair. My cheeks were wet with hot tears, both from shock and guilt, and pressed myself closer to him. I proved to myself that word vomit was my forte only moments later, when I nodded frantically and whispered, "Yes, yes, I'm so sorry, yes, I love you so much, yes, I'm sorry."

Maxon cut me off by pressing his lips to mine, to my cheeks, my eyelids, my nose, my neck. Our tears collided and combined, and we once again proved that we were far too helpless without one another.

Tomorrow, we'd bury my father. Tomorrow, we'd yell and fight and cry. Tomorrow, we'd announce to my family that we were engaged. Tomorrow, we'd figure it out. But tonight, we weren't a five and a one, we weren't an Elite and a prince, and we weren't a commoner and an uncommoner. We were America and Maxon. We were two idiots in love, two angry idiots that were recently engaged.

Tonight, we were all that mattered.


End file.
